


All Of Us, As Us

by aleksthepanman



Category: Original Work
Genre: Existential Crisis, Gender Dysphoria, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Medical marijuana, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Oppression, Running Away, Transphobia, Vagabonding, lgbtq+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7543141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksthepanman/pseuds/aleksthepanman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Stop trying to fix this! You've caused enough trouble!"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"You may be a disaster, but you're our disaster."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Why can't you just see that I fucking love you?"</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>Three teens struggle to find themselves while working past inner crises and outside forces</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of Us, As Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is the first chapter of my novel "All Of Us, As Us". This book can be heavy at points, dealing with topics detailed in the tags such as implied child abuse, homophobia, and transphobia. If these subjects are triggering to you, it might be best if you don't read this. If you think that you can handle it, by all means continue, but know your limits. With that being said, enjoy!

### Amelia

> "Once you're labeled as mentally ill, and that's in your medical notes, then anything you say can be discounted as an artifact of your mental illness" -Hilary Mantel

I will probably remember the day I was diagnosed for the rest of my life. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating, but that's how serious that day was for me. I will remember the anger and the sadness. I will remember the shame, and most of all, I will remember the pity. The look the doctor gave me when explaining the diagnosis, the nurse when she was sedating me after my fit, and the receptionist when I left.

It was early February, what a wonderful start to my year, I had thought. I walked back to my dorm, the pill bottle they had given me felt heavy in my hand as its contents rattled about. I had held it up to my ear and shook it. I snapped my fingers next to my ear, tugged on my hair, anything to ground me on Earth, at least until I got back to the shelter of my room.

When I got back, I sat on the ugly green bedspread and cried. I cried and cried and cried. My roommate wasn't there, thank goodness. I didn't want her to see me at a time like this. I didn't know how I was going to explain anything to her, or if the school would explain it to her for me. She would probably want to switch rooms, but who would want to share a dorm with me, the basket case? Who would help me through episodes? Who would make sure that I took my medication? I couldn't think of anybody, and I was too deep in thought to realize that my roommate had returned, and she was hugging me. Unconsciously, I clutched her sweater vest as if clinging to the last bit of boat in a shipwreck. She helped me put some pajamas on, and she helped me calm down. She didn't ask any questions, and I was grateful. I didn't think I would be able to speak anyway. As I slipped into sleep's open arms, one last thought emerged from the hurricane in my mind.

**I'm not ready to deal with the stigma that comes with being _schizophrenic_.**

* * *

The next day was a Saturday, thank goodness; I didn't want to go to any classes for a little while. I had two days, which wasn't much, but I could work with it. My roommate didn't want to switch rooms, in fact, she wanted to help me. Her name was Anisa, I think (our introduction had been quick, and she wasn't really in the dorm that often), and she was familiar with my disorder. She told me that her older brother was schizophrenic, but he had killed himself just weeks before his eighteenth birthday. We spent all morning just talking and getting to know each other. I learned that she taught herself how to play guitar when she was eleven and that she was half Persian and half Afghan. I also learned that she was a practicing Muslim. She told me about her family history, and I thought about my own somewhat bland history. Her's had a wonderful blend of colors and cultures, while mine was like a blank page: white. When we were in the cafeteria for lunch, we encountered some girls who pointed and laughed at Anisa's head scarf. It made me upset, but Anisa told me not to worry about it, and that she had to deal with it often. I think that got me madder than the girls themselves. I would have gone and talked to them, but I respected Anisa's wishes and didn't start a conflict.

My reason for not starting conflict couldn't hold me back forever, though. The moment I snapped was when a girl in the restroom asked me what it was like being roommates with a terrorist. I didn't say anything just yet, but when she asked me if she was sending messages back to Israel, I punched her in the face. I think her nose broke, but I left right after. I got called up to the principal's office soon afterwards, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting was for Anisa to be there as well. She looked like she was going to cry, and I felt a pang go through my heart. When the principal came out to see us, I immediately cried out her innocence. "She didn't do anything, ma'am. Anisa wasn't even there. I was just defending her, and trying to end this girl's ignorance." The girl gave me a scathing look and then rolled her eyes. The principal gave a sigh, before offering Anisa a tissue and a mint. "Miss Hill, I have already heard Miss Keating's side of the story. I would like to hear your account of what happened." I sucked in a breath and she gave a nod, signalling me to start. "Well, ma'am, I was washing my hands in the restroom, and Miss Keating here asked me what it was like being roommates with a terrorist. When I didn't respond, she asked me if she was sending messages back to Israel, and I lost it. One, Anisa is not from Israel, and two, Israel is not connected to the terrorism problem. I punched her in the face, and then left."


End file.
